


In Which Adam Young is Not the Boy Who Lived (But Something Like It)

by Phoenix_of_Athena



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Fusion, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Discussion of war, Gen, Good Omens Secret Santa 2019, Mistaken Identity, Mystery, Not Exactly The Wizarding World You Know, Professor Aziraphale (Good Omens), Professor Crowley (Good Omens), Sort Of, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), and it turns into the longest thing you've ever written, tfw you start out writing a short gift fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_of_Athena/pseuds/Phoenix_of_Athena
Summary: Adam Young is a Gryffindor.  He's eleven years old and a troublemaker, and the instigator of nearly every mess that he and his friends end up in.  He is also (insofar as he and the rest of the world are aware) a Muggleborn.Unfortunately, the things we most take for granted aren't always what they seem, and when Adam and the Them overhear a conversation between Professor Crowley and Professor Aziraphale, they find themselves uncovering more than they ever expected.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), The Them & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 100
Collections: Clever Crossovers & Fantastic Fusions





	In Which Adam Young is Not the Boy Who Lived (But Something Like It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kira7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira7/gifts).



> This is my piece for the Good Omens Secret Santa exchange run by @mabsgatos on tumblr. @kira-7 asked for a Hogwarts AU, so here it is!! It turned out much, much longer than I expected, and it also took far longer than I thought it would to get it done. I hope this satisfies, though!! ^_^

Everyone at Hogwarts knew Professor Anthony J. Crowley. He’d been the Herbology professor for as long as anyone could remember, and he’d taught everyone who came through the castle doors for at least their first three years. Professor Crowley looked young (although one must remember that for wizards, appearance is no true indicator of age), always dressed in the most modern fashion, and was a professor whose students always knew that they could go to him for help—even when they’d gotten involved in something that might land them in trouble with any other professor.

Professor Aziraphale was different. For one thing, no one was quite sure if he had a first name at all. And while, like Crowley, he had taught at Hogwarts for what seemed like forever, and was equally ageless and timeless, comparatively, he’d only taught a small selection of Hogwarts’ students. Ancient Runes, after all, was an elective—and not even the most useful one, unless one wanted to go into History, or Curse Breaking, or some equally obscure (but likely very interesting) field. Professor Aziraphale was also distinctly middle age, of the sort that you weren’t quite sure whether he was in his late thirties or early sixties. And compared to Crowley, he wasn’t nearly as approachable, unless it was an issue of academic interest—for Professor Aziraphale was always very keen to help his students better themselves (he was also somewhat known to have favorites—and his favorites were the ones who _wanted_ to be. He was very willing to take under his wing anyone who honestly _tried_ —and for them, he would go out of his way in much the same manner as Crowley did).

Another thing that everyone knew was that Professor Crowley was a Slytherin—and it was perhaps due to him that Slytherin House’s reputation didn’t decline overly much over the years despite the despots it produced—for Professor Crowley was simply so well liked by the general populace that he buoyed the House’s reputation all on his own. 

Professor Aziraphale, the Ancient Runes students were equally sure, was a Ravenclaw—or possibly, according to the few of the particularly stubborn students who got to know him, a Hufflepuff. Unlike Crowley, however, this time they all got it wrong. And it was just one of many secrets that would be discovered by a certain group of students in the next seven years.

This story begins, as many good Hogwarts stories do, with the Them. 

The Them were a group of four led by a boy named Adam Young, and even at only eleven years old, they were already the most infamous troublemakers that Hogwarts had seen in decades. The Them were known for running amok on the grounds, sneaking into places they didn’t belong, back talking to teachers, and getting into almost daily scuffles with a boy called “Greasy” Johnson and his own group, the Johnsonites.

Adam Young, of Gryffindor House, was the one who brought the Them together after a friendship-establishing scuffle on the Hogwarts Express; he was the ringleader and instigator of nearly every mess the quartet found themselves in. He was also (insofar as he and the rest of the world knew) a Muggleborn.

The lower tier of the Them looked up to Adam. These members consisted of: Wensleydale, a Ravenclaw and a Pureblood, Brian, a Hufflepuff and also a Muggleborn, and Pepper, a Slytherin Half-Blood. Together, they spanned all four houses and caused no end of worry for their respective Heads of House. (On several occasions, various students and teachers had attempted to bring complaints about the Them to the Headmaster. As always, however, She was disinclined to get involved.)

The event that precipitated this story, however, wasn’t any purposeful mischief. It was a simple coincidence in the form of an accidentally overheard conversation. A conversation between two long-time colleagues who believed that they were out of ear-shot from any students. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

The Them were making their way to their base, a nifty changeable room that Adam had discovered on the seventh floor, when they came across Professor Crowley having what seemed to be an argument with another professor. This other professor was Aziraphale, although they didn’t know it yet. They wouldn’t until the next morning, when they had the opportunity to further investigate; Ancient Runes, after all, was only offered after third year.

It was nearing curfew when they almost turned the corner into the professors. Wensleydale had been lecturing on the relative usefulness of remembralls, and Pepper and Brian had been involved in a mild shoving match when Adam’s arm shot out, bringing them all to a halt. 

If it had only been Professor Crowley that he’d seen, then they might have continued on with cheery waves, but the professor he was talking with was an unknown factor, and running into him might run the risk of being sent off to bed. So they ducked behind the corner, Pepper snagging Brian’s shirt to yank him back. 

They would have turned around to go another way, if only they hadn’t heard the intense words spoken between the two adults. But they did, and the conversation that they overheard went like this:

“You said it was _him!”_ Professor Aziraphale shouted in a whisper, as the Them peered back around the corner in curiosity.

Professor Crowley looked defensive.

“It _was_ him,” he said, “I mean, I should know, shouldn’t I?”

The blond professor frowned.

“Then there must be someone else interfering,” he said.

“There isn’t anyone else! It’s just us, right...one side or the other.” Professor Crowley ran a hand across his face.

“Oooh, this is a nightmare. My side won’t forgive me this, you can be sure. Not that they tend to _forgive_ people anyway.”

The other professor placed a hand on his shoulder, and Professor Crowley flinched.

“At least we’re in the same boat, then,” said Professor Aziraphale, with a grimace that was dressed up as a smile. “We’re both going to be in an awful lot of trouble before this mess is through.”

Professor Crowley scoffed.

“Your side? Not forgiving? Come off it.”

Professor Aziraphale looked suddenly deeply uncomfortable, but evidently decided to let the subject drop.

“In any case,” he said, “the child has been lost. Something must have happened in the hospital.”

Crowley whirled away from him, tugging out from under his hand.

“But how could it have?” he said, “the hospital was full of our people!”

 _“Your_ people,” corrected Professor Aziraphale, “and the fact of the matter is, that there must have been a mistake _somewhere._ ”

“Right,” said Professor Crowley as the Them exchanged excited, fascinated looks, “Well, I don’t see how they could have messed it up. I mean, two babies….” He paused, his face going blank, and then he gripped the other professor’s shoulders and said something to him, something low and intense that the children couldn’t catch. But Aziraphale’s eyes widened dramatically. Then he drooped.

“Not a lot to go on,” he said.

“Well, we know the child must be alive,” said Professor Crowley, “so—”

“We know this, do we?”

“Oh, yeah,” said the Herbology professor, “there’s magic for that kind of thing. If it had died, _he_ would have known, and I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“So all we’ve got to do is find it,” said Professor Crowley. “Go through the hospital records.”

“And then what?” asked Aziraphale, wringing his hands.

“And then we find the child.”

“And _then_ what?”

Professor Crowley opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, a series of loud, young voices clamored from further up the hall, and he shut it with a snap.

“We’ll finish this discussion later,” said Professor Aziraphale in a low voice, and Professor Crowley nodded weakly.

“See you later, Angel,” he said to the other’s already retreating back; then he sighed, and slunk away down the corridor in a way that seemed to the children quite unlike him. 

The moment that both professors were out of sight, the Them burst into shouts.

“They’re _up_ to something!” exclaimed Brian with a grin.

 _“Who_ was that other professor?” asked Pepper.

“How can they have lost a kid?” said Wensleydale, “Are they talking about a student?”

“Hush!” commanded Adam, and something about his face was uncharacteristically serious.

“What, why?” asked Pepper.

“Because it’s _obviously_ secret,” said Adam. “We should go to our base to talk about it.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Brian, and the Them trooped through the halls, each practically vibrating with silent excitement. 

By the time they tumbled into the room on the seventh floor, Adam was bursting at the seams with the need to discuss what they’d overheard.

“All right,” he said, “You can talk.”

“Professor Crowley and that other professor lost a student!” exclaimed Wensleydale immediately, only to be spoken over.

“It _can’t_ be a student,” said Pepper, “because they were talking about _babies.”_

“Maybe,” said Wensleydale, “but only when the mix-up happened. They never said _exactly when_ that was. The missing kid could be our age by now.” 

There was a pause as the Them considered this point.

“I think that Wensleydale is right,” said Adam, “it’d be much more interesting if it’s an old mystery. An’ they said they’d have to check the records, not just _ask_ anybody. So it _must_ have been a while ago.”

“Well,” said Pepper, “Who d’ you think they’re talking about, then? It could be _anyone_ , if it was so long ago. I know Professor Crowley’s a lot older than he looks. My mum said he’s been teaching here since _she_ was a student.”

“Oh!” said Brian, perking up, _“And,_ that other professor could be working for the _Dark Lord!_ That’s why they were being all secretive. And Professor Crowley is trying to bring him ‘round to our side.”

The other members of the Them stared at him.

“What?” he said, “I mean, the war wasn’t that long ago. That’s what you said on the train, Pepper.”

They all seemed less confused, but still unconvinced.

“Well, they _were_ talking about sides,” Wensleydale said eventually. 

“Maybe,” said Pepper, “but I still think that that’s mad. Professor Crowley wouldn’t get involved with someone like that; they seemed like friends, didn’t they? And the Dark Lord’s people were, _well_. We don’t actually like to talk about it, but my mum’s family were Dark, and she ran away to be a muggle rather than be like them. ‘Course, when the war ended, she realized that she missed magic, but. That stuff is _serious_. Professor Crowley would _never.”_

Brian looked sheepish, and the other members of the them slightly uncomfortable at the oddly serious talk. Then Adam said: 

“The only thing to do is investigate, it looks like. It’s getting late. Let’s get back to the common rooms, and meet back up tomorrow night. Ask everyone you can about that blond professor, all right? But try and be subtle.”

“Okay, Adam,” said Brian.

“That makes sense,” said Wensleydale.

“I bet I’ll find out the most,” said Pepper, and then they parted ways for the night, each eager for the morning to come, and already planning interrogations of their housemates. 

* * *

The next evening arrived with agonizing slowness. For each of the Them, classes seemed to creep by, and the ones that they shared were filled with meaningful glances and heavy silences. 

By the time that they were able to meet up in their seventh floor base, each of the Them were hanging on by a metaphorical thread, dying to share what they had learned. 

Adam, naturally, went first. 

“I asked my sister about the other professor,” he announced to the excitement of them all. 

Adam’s sister Sarah was, after all, a sixth year, and an invaluable source of knowledge for the Them; over the course of the year so far, she had shown them several secret passageways, advised them on how to survive crossing paths with R. P. Tyler, the castle’s caretaker, and specified which ghosts were likely to tattle on them if they crossed paths after dark. She had also taught them several useful spells to use whenever they tangled with Greasy Johnson’s gang, and thus earned herself universal respect of Adam’s little group. Thus, when Adam said that he had information from Sarah, they knew that he had them all beat in terms of what he’d learned.

“She _said,”_ said Adam grandly, “that his name’s Aziraphale, and he teaches Runes—one of the electives you can choose in third year. He’s known to be a stickler for following the rules, and _apparently_ he’s well known enough in his subject that a few years ago he had the Runes professor from Durmstrang come to shadow him.”

“Ooh,” interjected Wensleydale, “Durmstrang _is_ notoriously Dark.”

“Shut up,” said Pepper, “I want to hear what else Adam’s learned.”

 _“As I was saying,”_ said Adam, “Professor Aziraphale’s... _respected._ He’s also apparently got a feud going on with the librarian.”

“What?” said Brian.

“He said a _feud,”_ said Pepper, “that means a _fight.”_

“I know what it _means,”_ said Brian, flushing, “I just don’t get _why.”_

“Maybe if you lot would let me talk, than I would tell you,” said Adam.

“Sorry,” said Brain.

“It’s apparently been going ‘round for _years_ that he has it out for the librarian,” Adam continued. “They say they’ve had _duels_ over proper book care, and _Sarah_ says that one day he might just _snap_ and take over the _whole library_.”

There was an appreciative chorus of “Ooo” s from the Them. Then Pepper said:

“Are you sure she was being serious, though? That sounds more like a joke. If he was actually going to attack the librarian, then the Headmaster wouldn’t allow him in the school.”

“She _would,”_ said Wensleydale, “if She thought that he was worth having as the foremost expert in Ancient Runes. _I_ found out that he’s had several books published. He’s a valuable staff member to have. Makes Hogwarts look good, or something. And he’s got a lot to teach us. I think I might take his class when the time comes.”

“You _would,”_ said Pepper.

Adam cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said, “it _is_ sort of a joke. About the library, that is. But Sarah says it’s also true, and that he spends a lot of time there.”

“Did you find out anything else?” asked Brian.

“That’s about it,” Adam said reluctantly, disappointed to have to turn over the podium to the others, but also very eager to learn what they’d found out.

“Right,” said Pepper, “Wensley, did you learn anything else other than about some books?”

Wensleydale nodded.

“Well,” he said, “I learned that he plays favorites. And if you want to learn, then he’ll teach you; he even lets students stay after class to teach them one on one. And if you can get him on a tangent, then he knows a lot about history too. One of our prefects said that he told her something about the witch trials that helped her get an O on her History of Magic exam, and it was a subject never even covered in the class.”

“Huh,” said Adam.

“Okay, so he’s a good professor, then,” said Pepper, “anything else?”

“Er. No. I think that’s all.”

“Good,” she said, “because _I_ also learned something interesting from _my_ upperclassmen.” She grinned at them, pausing for dramatic effect until Brian shouted for her to get on with it.

Pepper laughed.

“Fine!” she said, “the truth is, that while he’s a stickler in class, if he _likes_ you, he’ll look the other way if he finds you up to mischief, just like Professor Crowley will.”

 _“Nice,”_ said Brian.

“Useful,” agreed Adam.

“Yep,” said Pepper. “I _also_ learned about his arguments with the librarian, so I can verify that. The upper year Slytherins laugh about it all the time. And that’s all I learned.”

The Them turned expectantly to Brian.

“Oh,” said Brian, “I learned that he and Professor Crowley are _definitely_ friends. I think they try to hide it, or something, but Hufflepuffs notice things.” He tapped his nose.

“People also usually say that he was a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw when he was a student, but he wasn’t a Hufflepuff for sure. We keep track of that.” 

Pepper prodded him with a finger.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“So we’ve learned that he’s strict,” said Adam, “unless he likes you; that he wasn’t a Hufflepuff; that he and Professor Crowley are friends, and he’s enemies with the librarian; and that apparently he’s a genius in Ancient Runes. Is that all?” He ruffled a hand through his hair, looking disappointed.

“I suppose we’ll have to keep on looking, then,” he said, “and also investigate Professor Crowley too. He was involved, after all. And just because he’s cool, doesn’t mean that he’s not up to something.” 

It was to a chorus of agreements that the Them once again went their separate ways for the night, and headed back to the dorms with almost more questions than answers. 

* * *

They reconvened the next morning at the Gryffindor table for breakfast.

Pepper was the first to arrive; breaking away from her Slytherin year-mates, she joined the sea of red and gold ties to wait for Adam. None of the Gryffindor students gave her a second glance, too used, by this point, to Adam's group shifting tables by the day.

The next to arrive was Wensleydale, who joined her only a few minutes later. He came in with a few other members of his house, one of whom gave him a solemn wave and a "see you later."

"Yeah," said Wensleydale "see you in Defense after breakfast, W—er—Lock."

The aforementioned "Lock" was actually one Warlock Dowling, the (apparent) son of a high-ranking ministry official, and the owner of a rather unfortunate name. Over the course of the school year so far, he had already gone by a total of seven alternative names, some of which were nicknames and some he’d chosen from books. Eventually, he would settle on going solely by his surname, but he hadn't quite reached that point yet. He wouldn't until the end of the year.

Wensleydale gave him a wave and joined his friend at the table to wait.

"Morning," he said in a chipper voice.

"Ugh," said Pepper from where she had her forehead pressed into the surface of the table.

"You should eat something," said Wensleydale, "it might wake you up a bit."

"Mph," said Pepper, but she removed her face from the table and put some cantaloupe on her plate.

A few minutes later, Adam finally joined them, walking in with a few other members of his house and chatting and amicably. He brightened when he saw the two of them, and parted from his dorm-mates to sit next to Pepper. He piled his plate with eggs and sausages.

“Just waiting on Brian, then?” he asked, not really needing an answer. “Hm. Wensley, you’ve got Herbology today, right? With the Hufflepuffs. The two of you should try and get some investigating done.”

“All right,” said Wensleydale, sipping on apple juice. “And it’s Friday, today. D’ you want to meet out on the grounds this afternoon instead of in the castle? It’s supposed to be nice out.”

Adam perked up. It was early spring still, and each of the Them was well and sick of the cold.

“Let’s,” he said, casting a quick glance at his wristwatch, “I can bring Dog to get some exercise; he’s been cooped up too much. I’m afraid he’s going to go after the caretaker’s dog if I keep him inside much longer. Anyways, class starts in five; I’m going to head to Transfiguration. See you later! And tell Brian the plan!”

“Sure, Adam,” said Wensleydale, and Pepper nodded from where she was shoving a last bite of eggs in her mouth while checking her bag for her Charms homework.

It was only once the hall was nearly empty that Brian dashed in. His tie was askew and his shoes unlaced, and he hastily stuffed some toast and apples into his pockets before dashing out again.

“Bye, Brian!” Pepper called laughingly, “Don’t be late!”

Brian’s high voice echoed back to her: “I forgot my Potions essay! I am _going_ to be late!”

They went to class.

* * *

In Transfiguration, Adam practiced turning his mouse into a snuffbox, accomplishing it far sooner than the rest of his class, and in Defense, Wensleydale and Pepper shot jinxes at each other under their desks; in History of Magic, Brian made hasty edits to his essay behind his textbook, and very nearly got caught. Lunch came and went, and Wensleydale and Brian trooped out into the sun to the greenhouses. 

Professor Crowley sat them at long tables in an area clear of plants, and launched into a lecture on Devil’s Snare. His lessons were full of personal anecdotes and interesting stories, and even a moving picture he that he put up, depicting the plant strangling a small rodent.

The class was gripped, and it was only at the end of the lesson that Wensleydale even remembered their investigation. He put his hand up when it was time for questions.

“Where’d you encounter Devil’s Snare, anyways?” he asked, and Professor Crowley blinked behind his dark glasses.

“Oh, I own some,” said the Professor, “Well—we have it in the castle’s greenhouses, of course, and you’ll be working with it in person next year. But I keep a clipping in my office as well. It’s a challenge to keep it well behaved.” He grinned.

“How about outside of Hogwarts?” asked Wensleydale, “have you ever done anything too dangerous for school?”

“Oh, sure,” said the Professor, “I have my own collection too; it’s always fun taming it back again when summer rolls around.” 

Then another student asked a question, and the opportunity was lost.

Wensleydale sighed as he and Brian made their way back to the castle together.

“I wanted to find out more about what he does outside of Hogwarts,” he said, and Brian patted his shoulder consolingly. 

Another voice piped up behind them.

“I might be able to help you with that,” it said, and the two members of the Them turned to see Warlock Dowling. The other Ravenclaw held an Arithmancy book loosely in his hand, but he was looking at the two of them.

“What?” said Brian, “How?”

“Oh,” said Warlock dismissively, “Professor Crowley used to babysit a lot when I was younger, so I know him better than anybody else. I can tell you what you’re curious about—but only if you tell me why you want to know.” 

Wensleydale and Brian exchanged excited looks. _This,_ they realized, was the _jackpot._

* * *

“Adam!” Brian shouted from under the oak tree by the lake. He and Wensleydale were already sitting by the water, and they both waved as Adam and Pepper walked down to join them. Dog was bouncing at Adam’s heels. 

Once they were within casual talking distance, everyone seemed to speak at once.

“I think I figured something out,” said Adam.

“We’ve got a lead!” said Brian. 

“Thank _God_ that class is over,” said Pepper, flopping onto the grass.

“We need to talk to you,” said Wensleydale.

They all paused. Naturally, Adam went first.

“I’ve figured out what Professor Crowley said the other day,” he announced. “You know, the sentence we couldn’t hear when he got too quiet.” 

He surveyed their rapt faces. 

“Remember,” he said, “they were talking about how switching _two_ babies isn’t complicated—so I realized there must have actually been _three.”_

The Them were all impressed by this, for it seemed a very good bit of reasoning.

“So there’s another layer to it,” said Pepper, “But do we have any idea yet _why_ they were switching babies in the first place? Were they even the ones to do it at all? Or are they investigating, themselves?”

“No,” said Adam, “They must have been involved in doing it. They were talking about sides and people, remember. And it was Professor Crowley’s people who did the switch—which actually means they’re the bad guys, right? No one good would steal somebody’s kid to swap them.”

“Unless it was for the baby’s _protection,”_ said Pepper. “What if the baby was someone really important, and they needed a body double? Or something.”

Wensleydale and Brian exchanged a lightning-struck look.

“Hey!” said Brian, “we’ve got information!”

 _“And,”_ said Wensleydale, “an actual candidate for an important person’s kid, now that I think about it.”

“Who?” said Adam.

“Lock Dowling,” said Brian.

“He’s in my House,” said Wensleydale, “And Professor Crowley apparently _babysat_ him all the time when he was little. According to him, he knew both Professor Crowley _and_ Professor Aziraphale before he even came to Hogwarts.”

“Wicked,” breathed Adam, a grin spreading across his face. “What else did he have to say?”

“Er,” said Brian.

“That’s the _thing,”_ said Wensleydale, “he wouldn’t talk unless we gave him some information in exchange. And we didn’t want to say too much without asking you. So that’s all we know so far.”

Adam pounded a fist against his knee.

“Well, where is he now, then?” he asked.

“Probably the library,” said Wensleydale. “He likes to study Arithmancy in his free time, even though he’s not in the class yet. Or maybe on the Quidditch pitch. I think he bribes the upper years into lending him their broomsticks sometimes, too.”

“Huh,” said Adam, “well, the Quidditch pitch is closer, and Dog could use the walk; let’s check there first.”

* * *

The pitch, as it turned out, did not contain the boy named Warlock Dowling; it _did,_ however, contain Greasy Johnson’s gang, who were watching the Gryffindor team practice. Naturally, the run-in ended in disaster, with the Gryffindor Quidditch team and captain stepping in to break up the ensuing fight.

By the time a professor had been fetched, half of the Johnsonites were suffering the effects of Pepper’s bat bogey hex, Adam had a bleeding cut above one eyebrow, and both Brian and Greasy Johnson each had a burgeoning black eye. Dog had also sunk his teeth into one of the boys’ boots and had yet to let go; Adam was refusing to tell him to.

The Professors who arrived behind the Gryffindor seeker looked put out, perhaps because they had also been out enjoying the weather. Neither the Them or the Johnsonites knew either of them beyond vague recognition from crossing paths in the halls, and as a result, the first years were collectively nervous.

“What exactly is going on here?” asked one professor, a young woman with long dark hair and smart looking robes. She planted her hands on her hips.

“The firsties got in a scuffle, Professor Device,” said one of the Gryffindor chasers. “We broke ‘em up, but we thought it would be best to get a professor. Some of those hexes they were throwing were nasty.”

The other professor looked politely interested and mildly concerned as he pulled out his wand to fix the first years’ disheveled robes with a flick.

“Well,” he said to the younger students, “care to explain yourselves?”

“They started it!” practically everyone shouted at once, and it was only the presence of the teachers that held them back from another fight.

“Right,” said the professor, “Well, if no one’s going to be straight with us, then I suppose we’ll just have to give the lot of you detention tomorrow morning.”

“What?” cried Pepper.

“That’s not fair!” said one of the Johnsonites.

“But it’s a _Saturday,”_ moaned Brian.

“Then you should have thought about that before you decided to have a duel on the grounds,” said Professor Device. She looked at the other professor.

“All right,” she said, “We’ll have to split you, since you obviously don’t get along. I’ll take you lot,” she pointed to the Them, “and Professor Pulsifer will take the rest.” 

There was a pause.

“We’ll meet in the Great Hall after breakfast, since I doubt you know where our classrooms are, and we’ll figure out some suitable punishments.” She sighed.

“Go on back to the castle, now,” said Professor Pulsifer, “I think you’ve lost your outdoor privileges for the evening.”

“But Dog still needs a walk!” protested Adam, and Dog finally released the boy’s shoe to wag his tail and look with big dark eyes up at the professors.

Professor Pulsifer laughed.

“The castle’s plenty big for that, I think,” he said, “Now off with you. And don’t think I won’t track you down if you don’t show tomorrow.”

Dejectedly, they all trooped back inside, shepherded by the Quidditch team. The Them broke off from the group once they reached the castle, and followed Adam as he marched determinedly towards the library.

“Do you think that Dowling will still be there?” asked Pepper, “It’s getting close to dinner.”

“Probably,” said Wensleydale. “If not, I can try to catch him in the common room before bed.”

“No,” said Adam, “I want to be there. Don’t question him without me.” 

He looked mulish enough that the Them each decided not to press it.

They entered the library and immediately stepped into a world of hushed breaths and soft papery rustling. Wensleydale seemed right at home as he took the lead to the Arithmancy section.

As it turned out, the Them were in luck: Warlock Dowling was still there, curled up in an uncomfortable wooden library chair with his nose in a book. Beside him on the table, a piece of parchment was covered in complicated squiggles and equations.

Adam cleared his throat.

“Warlock, was it?” he said.

Warlock made a face.

“Lock,” he said, looking up. “My mum was high on pain potions when she named me. Call me Warlock again and I’ll eviscerate you.”

He said this in such a tone that the Them couldn’t tell whether or not he was joking.

“Right. Lock, then,” said Adam, unfazed. “I hear you know Professor Crowley and Professor Aziraphale pretty well.”

“I _do,”_ said Warlock, raising an eyebrow. “The question _is,_ what can you do for me to make it worth my while to tell you what you want to know?”

Adam frowned. It was a heavy frown, the sort that usually made people fold easily to his will. Unfortunately for him, Warlock was made of sterner stuff. 

With a huff, Adam pulled out a chair and sat down opposite the Ravenclaw. The Them followed suit.

“The thing is,” said Adam, “I don’t know if I can trust you. Wensley seems to think you’re pretty clever, but does that mean that you can keep a secret? If you’re willing to talk about Professor Crowley, then will you sell _us_ out?”

Warlock folded his hands across his open book.

“For one thing,” he said, “Nan— _Crowley_ didn’t ask me to keep anything a secret that I’m willing to tell. For another, _you_ came to _me._ You want _my_ help. Can you afford to turn me down? And besides, I don’t want all the gritty details of whatever latest scheme you’re cooking up—plausible deniability and all that—but I think I have the right to know the generalities of what you want my information for. _And,_ if you want to _compromise,_ I won’t say I’m unwilling. But that depends on what else you’ve got to offer.”

And then it was Adam’s turn again.

“I can compromise,” he said, “What do you want, a useful hex to use? I’ve got a few.”

Warlock turned his nose up.

“I know how to _hex_ people,” he said. “I’ve known better hexes than _you_ since I was five. I’ve seen you fight with Johnson in the hallways. What else have you got?”

Adam looked slightly angry, but he took a breath; Dowling _did_ have the information that they wanted, after all.

“Secret passageways,” he said grandly. “I know all of the best ones. I can get you from one side of the castle to another in a flash.”

Warlock looked considering at this.

“How about ones that leave the grounds?” he asked, and the Them exchanged quick looks behind Adam’s back. While they knew such passageways _existed,_ Sarah had said she’d only show them next year, when she thought they were more _mature._

“I don’t have access to those yet,” Adam admitted sourly, and Warlock sighed.

“Of course not,” he said, “that would be too useful. I suppose you’ll just have to settle for owing me, then. Next time I decide not to do an essay, I can blame it on _you,_ say that you ruined it, and you’d have to back me up.”

“What?” exclaimed Pepper, outraged, as Brian and Wensleydale looked equally scandalized beside her (although at least half of Wensleydale’s expression might have been at the prospect of purposely skipping homework).

“Fine,” said Adam. He stuck out his hand. “We have a deal.”

“We have a deal,” agreed Warlock, taking it. “Now, tell me what you want to know.”

“How long have you known Professor Crowley?” Adam asked immediately, and Warlock snorted.

“All my life,” he said. “He met my parents when I was a baby, or something, and offered to look after me ‘cuz he had experience with kids—never mind that kids are different from _babies_ —my parents wouldn’t know the difference anyway. And he _was_ good at it, I guess. I’m not sure I would want him looking after _my_ kid, though—he’s a complete pushover. All I ever had to do was threaten him, or throw a tantrum, and he’d grin like an ashwinder out of the hearth and just cave every time. The more creative I got, the better he’d treat me to dessert, too.”

“Hang on,” said Pepper, “he was _encouraging_ you to be _mean?”_

Warlock shrugged.

“Looks like. Couldn’t tell you why, though.”

Adam drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“How about Professor Aziraphale?” he asked.

“Hm,” said Warlock, “he came along slightly later, I think. Just by a little bit. Or maybe I was just too young to remember him at first. He was...weird. The opposite of Na—of Crowley. It was always a strange thing switching from one to the other; I had to play a very different game. Aziraphale always insisted on proper manners, and read old fables about morality all the time. After a while, it all just turned into a sham. I’m very good at being who people want me to be.” He grinned.

“Anything else?”

“How about, uh, has anything really weird ever happened to you? Like, related to them, or not?”

“Weirder than what I’ve _told you?”_ said Warlock. “Well, there was my eleventh birthday, I suppose. I had this _stupid_ party that my Dad insisted on, with all the children of the people who he wanted to impress. It was right before Hogwarts; August thirteenth? And both Professor Crowley and Professor Aziraphale showed up, but it was like they were trying to be discreet. Professor Crowley came in with the waitstaff for some reason, and Professor Aziraphale did an absolutely terrible demonstration of Muggle magic, I almost _cried._ It was _so_ bad.” He snickered. 

“Your birthday’s August the thirteenth?” said Adam in a surprised tone of voice.

“Yeah,” said Warlock, “why?”

“Uh,” said Adam, “No reason. That’s. Er. Okay. Thank you. Thanks. I...I might come back and ask you more?”

“Sure,” said Warlock, looking nonplussed at the abrupt end to the questioning. “But tell me why you wanted to know.”

“Oh,” said Adam distractedly, “We overheard them talking—something about a kid, and we got curious about who it was, since it couldn’t have been a student.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Warlock, “well, all right then. But if you want to know anything else, you’re going to rack up a debt.” 

"Sure," said Adam, his mind obviously elsewhere, and he stood to lead the Them out of the library. Then he paused.

"Actually," he said, turning back to Warlock, "one last weird question, sorry: do you know _where_ exactly you were born?"

Warlock blinked at him.

"Yeah," he said, looking suspicious, "funny you should ask that. It's a bit odd, but my mum was out in the middle of the countryside when, you know, she had me. I dunno why, but uh. Obviously she couldn't concentrate to apparate to St. Mungo's. So I was born in this little country hospital in the middle of nowhere—it's, uh—Tadfield I think? My mum's told the story enough times."

Adam released a shaky breath. 

"Oh," he said, "thanks." And then he left, crossing the stone floor at a breakneck pace that had the others scrambling after him. 

They left the library.

"Adam?" said Wensleydale.

"Hey, what was that all about?" asked Pepper, catching up with him in the corridor, "You just took off, and we didn't actually even get to learn that much!"

"Well, we learned where the mix-up happened," said Brian.

"Just...stop," said Adam. He looked unusually pale. "I'm...I'm going to go to bed. I'm not feeling very well."

"Oh," said Wensleydale, "you do look off. Go and get some rest, then. D' you want us to tell Sarah to bring you some dinner?"

"Yeah," said Adam, "thanks."

Pepper frowned.

"If you're still feeling bad tomorrow," she said, "you ought to go to the nurse. Otherwise the professors will think you're just skipping detention."

"All right," said Adam, and then he disappeared around the corner. The Them stared after him in concern and befuddlement.

"Do you think he's really ill?" asked Brian after a moment.

"Not on your life," said Pepper. She shook her head in disgust. "I don't know what's going on with him, but there's no way I'm fooled by a lie as bad as that one. Anyways, c'mon, let's go to dinner. We can talk to him tomorrow."

* * *

Adam, meanwhile, was sitting in his bunk in the Gryffindor first year boys’ dormitory, thinking hard and scratching Dog between the ears.

Warlock Dowling was undoubtedly one of the boys that the professors had been talking about; that was obvious. And apparently they’d both been trying to sway him in one direction or the other—either kindness or cruelty. This was also interesting. But the thing—the really _weird_ thing—was that Warlock Dowling shared Adam’s birthday.

It was a coincidence. An odd, unlikely coincidence, and when Warlock had mentioned it so casually, it had caught Adam off guard. But _then_ he just hadn’t been able to help it (because Adam never had been able to stop himself from prodding at something that might be better left alone) and he had asked where Warlock had been born. And that’s where things officially got to be too weird for Adam. Because a shared birthday was a strange, somewhat uncomfortable coincidence, but a shared birthplace as well…. Well. It was enough to set even Adam Young on edge.

Dog whuffed softly and pushed his cold nose into Adam’s hand, and the boy couldn’t help but smile despite it. It was best to put it all out of his mind, really. Dwelling on the uncomfortableness of it all would only drive him mad.

Adam scooped his hands under Dog’s little body, and pulled him into his lap.

“You’re a good boy,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into Dog’s fur, “You don’t care about any of this do you? All you care about is getting pets, and chasing cats, and getting into trouble, huh? You’ve got your priorities all straight.”

Dog licked him on the cheek, and Adam giggled.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling the bedcovers back, “You can sleep with me tonight. We’ll worry about the rest of it in the morning.”

* * *

The next morning dawned cold, with thin gray light that barely lit the tower dormitories through the clouds. Adam pulled on thick socks and thought wistfully of the sunshine the previous afternoon. Then he made his way through the common room, down twisting staircases, through long gray corridors lit by torches, and into the great hall for breakfast.

He found Brian sitting glumly at the Hufflepuff table, poking at his bacon.

“Hey, Adam,” the boy said miserably, looking up. “I don’t _want_ to go to detention today. The rest of Hufflepuff is holding a gobstones tournament, and I wanted to join in.”

“Yeah, well,” said Adam, sitting next to him and grabbing an empty plate, “At least we got to see Pepper give Greasy Johnson a black eye yesterday. That was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Brian perked up at the memory.

“Yeah,” he said, “that _was_ pretty great.”

“What was great?” said Wensleydale, sliding into the seat beside them.

“Pepper nailing Johnson in the eye,” said Brian.

“It _was_ a good hit, wasn’t it?”

Pepper threw herself down onto the bench across from them, giving her hair a toss. She faux-buffed her nails on her shirt.

 _“I_ for one don’t regret it at all,” she said. “He _did_ tell us to get off the pitch, as if he had any more right to be there than _we_ did. He deserves to get his nose ground into it sometimes.”

“Here, here,” said Brian, grinning. He stabbed a sausage and some eggs with his fork, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

Wensleydale shoved his arm.

“Ugh, _manners,”_ he said.

“Never heard or ‘em,” said Brian, swallowing.

“Obviously,” said Pepper. “Anyways, Adam, are you all right? You seemed out of it last night.”

“I’m fine,” said Adam. “I just had a queasy stomach. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ditch you all in detention. _Afterwards,_ though, we’ve got some more _investigating_ to do. I’ll fill you in later.” He gave them a conspiratorial wink.

“Awesome,” said Brian, and then all conversation was lost in favor of a warm breakfast. 

Once the food was done, both the Greasy Johnsonites and the Them filed out into the entry hall, where they waited on opposite sides of the doorway, shooting each other nasty looks. Before too long, both Professors Device and Pulsifer joined them and shepherded them off in opposite directions.

Professor Device led the Them up winding staircases until they reached a small corner of the castle, where she reached up, and with a swish of her wand, lowered a ladder from a trap door.

“Where are we?” asked Pepper, as the Professor climbed up ahead of them.

“My classroom,” Professor Device called back down over her shoulder. “I teach Divinations; you’ll have the chance to take it, if you want, once you’re in third year. Though I should warn you, it’s not for everyone, and if you don’t have the Gift, then there are some techniques we cover in class that will never work for you.” She paused, waiting for the last of the Them to pull themselves up into the tower-top classroom.

“If that’s the case, though, I won’t dock points for it; it just means you’d have to focus on the theoretical aspects instead, with really can be just as useful. 

“Now,” she said, crossing her arms and sweeping her gaze over them, “I’ve been going through some old books and boxes lately that the previous professor had in storage, so I’m going to have you help me sort them.”

She gestured for them to sit amongst the large stacks of books and parchment and strange, rune-inscribed odds and ends that cluttered the small wooden tables spread across the room.

They got to work. Some time later, Pepper asked, “Professor, why do you want to keep this old stuff, anyways? Isn’t Divinations about the future?”

Professor Device looked up with a smile.

“Yes,” she said, “but the _best_ way to predict the future will always be by looking at the past and present. The things that people observed a hundred years ago can still be useful today, and actions always ripple. Plus, there are so _many_ old prophecies that haven’t found their subjects yet. To be honest, interpreting the works of the great prophets has always been my favorite part of Divinations. Much more than making the predictions myself. Interpretation requires being clever, and getting into another person’s head.” She laughed. “I guess I’ve always found it fun.”

Adam looked keenly at her.

“Can you give us an example?” he asked, dusting the cover of a battered book before placing it in a box. “Of old things affecting new ones, I mean.”

“Oh,” said Professor Device, “that’s easy. Take the Fourth Great British Wizarding War—have you covered that in History yet?” 

The Them shook their heads.

“Well,” said Professor Device, “It took place a few hundred years ago, now, back when they were first instituting the Statute of Secrecy. There was a whole lot of fuss about how we should go about hiding ourselves, you know, and memory spells hadn’t been invented yet. So you had people advocating for just _murdering_ the muggles who were in the know, and others who had friends and family that weren’t magical, and it became a horrid, messy, painful thing on all sides. There were wizards killing wizards, wizards killing muggles, and muggles not knowing who to fight against or what was happening on the whole.”

“Oh _no,”_ breathed Pepper.

“It was bad,” agreed the Professor, “but it _was_ that war that led to the creation of memory spells. It also left some deep political divides that exist to this day. There are still those who would kill the muggles without a second thought, after all. And you four are only eleven, so you didn’t experience the last war, but some of the lasting undercurrents underpinned the split between the Light and the Dark.

“Actually,” she said, “the last war _would_ only have ended right around when the four of you were born, wouldn’t it have? It really _has_ been eleven years already, and it was July or August that year when the Dark side gave it up and sunk back into the shadows.”

Adam swallowed hard, and then he asked: 

“And this was because of the war over the Statute of Secrecy?”

“In part,” agreed Professor, “But that was only one thing that drove the initial wedge between the Light and Dark. The Ministry almost seemed like it was waiting for an excuse to go to war—or, well, that’s what it seemed like to me at the time. But I was young then, too.” She sighed. 

“The thing that gets to me the most, other than the loss of life, of course, is everything else important that fell to the wayside. With all of the resources focused on the war and Thaddeus Dowling’s aurors, things like dragon preserves and non-military innovation disappeared. Guards were taken from the preserves and no one stopped the poachers; and before the war, there was a lot more focus on medical advances, but afterwards it was all new spells to kill people. And things still haven’t gone back to how they used to be, eleven years later.”

Professor Device looked over the wide-eyed children sitting in front of her. Then she frowned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t be talking about this sort of thing. You kids are young, and you should be able to enjoy that without worrying about the state of the world today. This is a problem that the adults should deal with _for_ you. But you see, the past _does_ matter, when looking towards the future. And the more knowledgeable we are about it, the more insight we have into what our predictions could mean, and how we might be able to change things for the better.”

The Them gave her serious nods. Then Brian’s metal instrument _clanged_ when he put it in a box, and they all startled.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Professor Device. She checked a large silver pocket watch which she pulled from her robes.

“I think it’s about time for you kids to get going, actually,” she said. “It’s almost four, and you’ve been a big help to me today. I never would have gotten this much work done on my own. And you _also_ let me lecture at you, when you aren’t even in my class yet.” 

Standing, she clapped her hands together.

“I think you all deserve to go. Go on, you’re free. Just don’t go getting into any more fights, all right? You’re good kids; you don’t need to be getting into trouble all the time.”

“Thanks,” said Pepper.

“We’ll try, Professor,” said Wensleydale.

And the Them trooped out, except for Adam, who said, “I think I’ve forgotten something; go on without me, I’ll catch up.”

He poked his head back into the the Divinations classroom to see Professor Device skimming through an old, well cared-for book. The cover read: _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch._

Adam cleared his throat.

“Professor Device?”

“Hm?” she said, looking up, “Adam? Did you need something?” Her face took on a concerned cast, and Adam quickly shook his head.

“I was just wondering,” he said quietly, “since I’m a muggleborn, you know… Um. What _exactly_ was the last war fought over? And how did it end? I’ve only ever heard a little; no one really likes to talk about it.”

“Ah,” said the professor, “Come here. Sit.” 

Adam did.

“Look,” she said, “Wars— _any_ war—aren’t ever really about one thing. They’re complicated and messy and come from a lot of different factors. People with longstanding grudges, people who want something that another group has, people who simply benefit from war because of other factors: from the culture of anger; from the money it makes them; from people’s distraction from other things. And of course there’s always the reason they dress it up as: the self-righteous _our side knows best_ and _we’re doing it because it’s the right thing,_ sort of reasons. And for most people, that _is_ the why of war. But in this case, if you want the root cause, it mostly about control. About who would run the wizarding world: the Ministry, or the Dark Lord who’d been gaining power in the shadows, sowing discontent and hatred for the status quo.”

“Oh,” said Adam, “what was the status quo?” 

“Control, again,” Professor Device said simply. “The ministry has been regulating things more and more as time has gone on, and some of it is good—education is a requirement, and these days the price to attend Hogwarts is lower than it’s ever been as a public institution. But only fifty years ago, they also instituted the ban on underage magic; and sixty years before that, they cracked down on the use of dark magic. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, either, of course; it makes us safer, on the whole. But you also need to remember that wizards live a long time—far longer than muggles do—and this was definitely within the lifetime of some individuals who felt that they’d been losing freedom to an ever-encroaching government. Change, when it seems to happen too quickly, always makes people upset.”

Adam frowned.

“So then, is the Dark side in the right at all? How come they managed to win so many people over? Or was it just because they were angry?”

“Well,” said the professor, “They did have a few good points of course; abolishing the use of dark magic almost entirely, down to its bare bones...I can’t say I agree with it. Some of it’s useful magic when it’s used correctly. I think things like the Unforgivables were right to be criminalized, of course; they can only be used to cause harm. But other magics can be used as tools; there’s a curse that turns a person’s insides to their outsides, and—” she looked at Adam’s disgusted expression, “—yes, it’s very gruesome when used for harm, but it could also be used in surgery, if a witch or wizard is skilled enough to limit its range. And yet, the ministry made it illegal in one enormous sweep, and it upset people—some of them very reasonable witches and wizards. And then they became angry, and were easily drawn in, slowly becoming more and more Dark the longer they argued for that side. And that went the other way as well, of course; the Light only became more sure of itself, until we were split between two opposing steel walls that wouldn’t compromise.”

“And the end?” asked Adam, “how did the war _end?_ I know the Light side won, right?”

“Well,” said Professor Device slowly, “in a way, they won. The Dark Lord was banished, you see. Not killed; not defeated; but banished. It was an archaic magic. I don’t know the details, only that the minister went to the Headmaster for help and She provided, bringing an end to things. 

“Still, most people think that the peace today is really only a temporary standstill. The Light may have seemed to gain ground, but the Dark has been working towards their master’s renewal this entire time. And no one’s positions have changed; the Ministry still believes in outlawing the Dark, but the Dark’s supporters have wedged their way into politics and have brought things to a halt. It’s just a different sort of war these days.”

“Oh,” said Adam. This was an awful lot to think about.

“Do you know _anything_ else about how the Dark Lord was defeated?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” said Professor Device. “But you know who would? I bet you that Professor Crowley or Aziraphale could tell you more. They’re more up on their recent history than you’d expect from looking at them, and I believe that they were both involved in the war. You’d best be careful, though; it’s a sensitive subject for people who lived through it. Although, I don’t suppose you’d know Professor Aziraphale yet. So Professor Crowley might be your best bet.”

“I know them,” said Adam, “Or, at least I know _of_ them. Thanks. Thank you. I always feel like there’s so much I don’t know.”

“You’re welcome,” said the professor, “And Adam? You can stop by any time, if you need help or have any questions—and that goes for the rest of your time here, even if you don’t end up in my class.”

“Thanks,” said Adam, shuffling on his feet, “Anyways, I’ve got to go, my friends…”

“Of course,” said the professor. “Have a good evening.”

“Bye!” said Adam, and then he was hurtling down the ladder into the staircase below, and racing through the halls to the Them’s base.

* * *

Adam was being quiet again. He had been oddly serious since this entire investigation had begun, but now the Them were beginning to get worried: it was a strained Adam who joined them in the come-and-go room, and it was a strained Adam who paced restlessly in front of them before Brian spoke up.

“Hey, Adam?” he said, “this morning, you said you had a plan?”

Adam stopped, and turned to face them.

“I did,” he said. “I _do._ We’re going to tail them. Professor Crowley and Professor Aziraphale. They’ll have to slip up _some_ time, and _we_ are going to be there to catch it.”

“Really?” said Pepper, “following them? That seems like it’ll take a lot of time, and there’s other fun things to do.”

“Not to mention,” said Wensleydale, “that we have classes to attend, and we still don’t know where the Runes classroom is.”

Adam flung his hands up.

“We’ll ask Sarah, then!” he exploded, and lapsed into a scowl, “but we’ll never find out _anything_ if we just _sit around_ and _talk_ about it!”

Pepper shot to her feet.

“There’s no need to yell,” she said, hands planted on her hips. “You need to calm down. I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but you’re getting too invested. We started investigating for _fun,_ Adam, _not_ to completely take over our lives.”

“Yeah, Adam,” said Wensleydale, “it’s a good mystery, but you don’t get to take it out on us when you get frustrated; that’s not fair.”

Brian nodded.

“It’s not okay to yell at your friends,” he said. “I’ll help you follow the professors, ‘cuz you’re _my_ friend, but if it only makes you mad, then it’s not worth it.”

Adam sat down. He put his face in his hands.

“You don’t understand,” he mumbled into his fingers, “this is _important.”_

“Then _help_ us understand,” said Pepper, “because you’ve been being really weird.”

Adam looked up at them, at their frustrated faces, and almost said: “This is personal.” He almost said: “Dowling and I share the same birthday, and the same birthplace, and the switch happened to _babies_ at a _hospital_.” He almost said: “Is it really a coincidence that the war ended right when I was born?” 

But in the end, he didn’t say any of it, because it was too big. It was too big to say, and it was too big for _him._ Adam was just Adam: eleven years old, first year Gryffindor, and a muggleborn. He wasn’t important; he was just a kid. So he couldn’t say it, because it _couldn’t_ be him. 

“I’m going to try and find one of them tonight,” he said instead. “Anyone who wants to join me can.”

“Not me,” said Pepper, “I’m going to do something _fun_ after detention, not skulk around in hallways.”

“I’ve got an essay I want to do more research for,” said Wensleydale with a shrug, “and I promised Brian I’d help him with his Charms homework.”

“I’ve got the Charms homework,” agreed Brian, “And I wanted to see if I could watch the end of the gobstones tournament tonight.”

“Okay,” said Adam dully, “I’ll do it by myself, then. You guys have fun.”

“We’ll help you out tomorrow, Adam,” said Brian, “just not tonight.”

“Yeah, tomorrow, when I’m not so tired,” agreed Pepper, as Wensleydale nodded.

“Fine,” said Adam, “tomorrow,” and he stood. He walked out of the room without looking back. He had professors to track down.

* * *

The first place Adam headed was the library, again. It was the afternoon on a Saturday, and there were no classes, and Sarah had said that Professor Aziraphale _did_ like the books a bit too much. 

As usual, the library was still and quiet when he entered, and he wandered aimlessly through the shelves, running his hands over the leather spines. He passed by students with their heads bowed close together, upper years sitting behind tall stacks of books, and a trio of Hufflepuff third years giggling quietly over an open text. Then he turned a corner, and bumped right into someone. 

He looked up. 

Professor Aziraphale stared back.

“Oh! Sorry,” said Adam, practically leaping back as if the man had stung him, and the professor gave him a brief flash of a smile.

“No harm done,” he said softly, fidgeting with his cuffs, and Adam stared up at him for a long moment, before quickly ducking his head and sliding back around the shelf. He leaned his head against it for a breath, and closed his eyes. 

On the other side of the bookshelf, Professor Aziraphale narrowed his eyes for a moment; then he let it go. He slid a book back onto the shelf, and walked further into the library towards the restricted section. He didn’t notice the small face that peered around the shelves to watch him.

Adam spent the remainder of the day in the library, watching the professor. He watched him carry stacks of books from deep in the restricted section, read through them at a rapid pace, and put them back again. He watched the professor adjust his gold-rimmed spectacles, scribble himself notes on rolls of parchment, and drum his fingers across the tabletop. He caught sight of titles like _Infinite Incantations to Reveal the Truth,_ and _Rituals of the Darkest Days._

The roll of notes grew longer and longer, and Adam grew more and more restless.

Eventually, Professor Aziraphale went back into the stacks, and didn’t come back out with more books. Instead, he collected his notes, and headed out of the library. Adam followed him, creeping around corners with his ears peeled. He followed the professor until he reached a doorway, knocked once, and stepped inside.

Moving quickly, Adam darted forward, and caught the door by a crack before it shut. After a moment, he dared look in.

Through the thin strip between the door jamb and the door, he saw a sofa and a footstool with someone’s feet on it. Professor Aziraphale walked briefly into view, and then away again. 

“I’ve been doing some research,” he said, and Professor Crowley—for apparently it was _his_ feet upon the footrest—muttered something that sounded like, “Of course you have.”

 _“Yes,”_ said Professor Aziraphale, “well, somebody had to do something. I don’t see you doing anything useful; if you have a better idea, _do_ let me know.”

“I know, I know,” grumbled the Herbology professor. “Sorry. Have you found anything out?”

There was a sigh.

“Not really,” Professor Aziraphale admitted, “although I have a few things we could try. It would be better than _nothing,_ at least.”

“Right, let’s hear it then.”

There was a shuffling of papers, and Professor Aziraphale sat down on the sofa. For a short time, there was silence.

“This isn’t going to work,” said Professor Crowley.

“Why not?” said Professor Aziraphale, no doubt feeling put out after the number of hours he had sunk into research.

“Because it’s got this, this automatic defense, I told you. They made sure of it. The boy can’t be detected by normal means.”

“This _isn’t_ normal means,” insisted Aziraphale, and Professor Crowley sighed.

“It still won’t work,” he said, “believe me.”

“Well, what then? We must do _something._ We decided that this can’t go on. Crowley, you _know….”_

“Yeah, Angel, I know. But what can we do? Our gambit to influence the child towards neutrality fell through. We lost the bloody Dark Lord’s son! We might as well resign ourselves war and corruption. Without any outside influences....”

“Then the child will follow its nature, I know.” Professor Aziraphale’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Adam wasn’t breathing. He heard it all.

“So we can only hope,” the professor continued, “that you were right about it not being evil in and of itself. If it comes to another _war,_ Crowley—!”

“Then we can—we can bloody well run away!” snarled Professor Crowley. “We’ve formed our own side, here, and you can’t keep pretending otherwise. The Light is just as happy to go about massacring innocents and muggles to get their way as the Dark is, and I know it, and you know it, and I know you _hate_ it.”

There was a choked sort of sound from the other man, and then a soft sound of rustling as someone shifted on the sofa.

Adam couldn’t move. He felt like he was frozen in place with his hands locked around his knees and his face pressed to the crack in the door. His heart was beating in his ears.

“I can’t do it again,” came Professor Aziraphale’s voice, low and rough. “The last time was bad enough, with Gabriel ordering attacks on entire towns for the slightest _chance_ of getting the _enemy._ And with the Headmaster’s absence, he’ll only do worse this time, especially as Minister.”

“I know,” said Professor Crowley, his voice dark, “it’s why we’ve got to _run._ Who knows where the child ended up—if he goes to either side, it’ll be just as bad. All of the Dark Lord’s power in the hands of a _child.”_

“I can’t just _run,”_ said Professor Aziraphale, “I have responsibilities; we have _students._ Don’t tell me you could bear to leave them to their fate.”

There was a breath; a pause; a whisper. Words too low, too soft and gentle to make out.

Adam’s eyes were watering fiercely, and his head was pounding. 

_The Dark Lord._

_Son._

_Power in untrained hands._

He wrenched himself away from the door, hands clamping over his mouth to struggle back a gasp, and then he slipped away down the empty corridor.

* * *

By the time Sunday morning arrived, Adam was still walking. He had avoided ghosts and prefects by ducking into passageways and alcoves, and he had been _thinking_ the whole night.

He still didn’t _know_ that it was him. But something told him that it was: there was a part of Adam, a part that had always been there, that seemed to hold him apart from everything else. It was the part that made magic come as easily to him as a plaything; the part that made people _listen_ when he talked. It was a part, now that he was paying attention, which _scared_ him. 

He turned a corner, and found himself outside of the Great Hall. He saw his friends, all of them, standing by the great wooden doors and chatting. They smiled when they saw him.

“You look horrible this morning,” Pepper greeted, leading the way to meet him.

“Are you okay?” asked Brian, his cheerful face scrunched up in concern.

“I’m fine,” said Adam quietly, “I. Well. I was just realizing some things. And I am _sorry_ for yesterday. It’s just, you grow up thinking that the world is full of amazing things; that we’re _safe,_ and that things are all right, but they really aren’t always, are they?”

“No, they aren’t,” said Pepper slowly, “but _some_ things are amazing; we _have_ got magic.”

“Yeah,” muttered Adam, “But people are still people, and everybody _wants_ something, and nobody cares about anybody else.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Sometimes I think it’s not worth growing up for, and I—I wish we could just get _rid_ of everything and start all over again, only this time, do it _right.”_ He sniffled.

Brain clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“Nothing we can do about that,” he said. “Come an’ have breakfast.”

“And Adam,” said Wensleydale, “It’s not all bad, remember? We’ve got chocolate, and sunshine, and books about pirates. And Dog would fight any bully in the world for you, and two days ago, Pepper socked Greasy Johnson right in the eye.”

“That’s true,” said Adam. Those were some very good things. 

They went to breakfast.

* * *

The weather had warmed up again, and the Them played wild games on the grounds that day. They took turns playing Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls the ballet, and pretending to be the wizard Barrufio summoning increasingly dangerous creatures. 

They romped around the lawn, hollering, with Dog running at their heels, and Adam seemed to settle again. By the evening, he was smiling, and the tension seemed to have left his shoulders. By the time they ended up back in the library again, he seemed almost back to normal. 

Unlike last time, they had no ulterior motives for their being there, only studying. They’d all put off their Defense essay until today, although Wensleydale had brought a bullet-pointed outline, and they worked studiously right up until Professor Aziraphale walked by; then all at once, the Them burst into whispers.

“Did you learn anything last night?” asked Pepper.

“D’ you want to see what he’s up to?” said Brian.

“I was hoping he’d turn up,” said Wensleydale.

“I learned a little,” confided Adam. The Them fell silent as the professor passed them by again. Then Adam stood.

“I’m going to talk to him,” he said. The Them looked appropriately awed.

“Do it,” hissed Pepper.

Adam did. He walked over to the table where Professor Aziraphale had set up, and hovered for a moment at his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said.

Professor Aziraphale looked up.

“Oh,” he said, “the young man from yesterday evening. You ran off so quickly, are you all right?”

Adam smiled.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question—I’m Adam Young, by the way.”

“Professor Aziraphale,” said Professor Aziraphale.

“I know. My sister Sarah’s in your class. But anyways, I had, uh. I had a detention with Professor Device the other day, and we got to talking about history, and she said that you might be able to help me with something. I’m a muggleborn, you see, and well. I don’t know a whole lot about wizarding history yet. So I was wondering, if you were willing, if you could tell me...that is...do you know how the Dark Lord was defeated? Professor Device said she was too young at the time to really understand it all, but that _you_ know an awful lot about a lot of important things.”

“Er,” said the professor, “I don’t know….”

“Please,” said Adam, “It’s important; can you tell me at least what the reaction was after it happened? I can’t imagine things all went right back to normal after he disappeared. The Dark side must have done _something,_ and not just rolled right over.”

“Er,” said Professor Aziraphale again, “Well, no, they didn’t. They went into hiding too, after one last major skirmish. The ministry had caught them at the tail end of a ritual, and they managed to round some of them up.”

“A ritual,” said Adam, “After the Dark Lord was sealed away? Were they trying to free him again?”

“I don’t think so,” said the professor. Something about his face was very tired.

“Oh. So, something else, then,” said Adam. “What do you think they wanted? Another way to get power? Restart the war?”

“That does seem likely.”

“Hm,” said Adam. “But they didn’t get it. They _obviously_ didn’t get it, or there’d still be fighting, but instead everyone is going back and forth in government. Right? And that’s better, because at least people have a chance.”

“It is,” agreed Professor Aziraphale. He was looking at Adam strangely.

“Thanks,” said Adam. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked down the professor. 

“Oh, it was no problem at all, my boy.” Professor Aziraphale looked earnest. “Did you have any other questions I can answer? I’m afraid that I wasn’t much help.”

“No, you were,” said Adam. “An’ I think I’m all right, now. Thank you.” 

He went back to the Them.

The professor watched him go for a long moment, before returning to his books. With his face turned towards the yellowed pages, he suddenly looked very old; older than he had only the moment before, when he was speaking to Adam.

* * *

Monday morning dawned bright and clear, with sunny skies and a brisk wind that whipped the hair of the students crossing the grounds for early morning classes.

The Them gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast, and talked about trivial things. They went to class, and practiced spells, and learned new things about what they could do. Lunch slipped by, and dinner too, and afterwards, they played exploding snap. Adam won it handily, though none of them escaped without singed fingers, and in Brian’s case, an eyebrow. The evening had been filled with laughter, and not once had there been mention of the mystery afoot. 

It was already after curfew when they parted ways for the night to sneak back to the dorms. Pepper and Brian headed down together, but Adam and Wensleydale parted ways outside their base.

“Night, Wensley,” said Adam with a smile.

“See you in the morning, Adam.”

Alone in the familiar darkened halls, Adam’s shoes scuffed across the smooth-worn stone. He was tired, but there was something that made him reluctant to go to bed just yet. Instead, he retraced his footsteps from two nights before, and again he found himself in front of the closed wooden door. From the crack beneath it, a soft light shone through. He swallowed. Then, he knocked.

After a moment, there came the sound of footsteps, and the door was pulled open. 

Adam looked up into the face of Professor Crowley, as from deeper in the room, Professor Aziraphale asked who was there.

“Adam Young?” Professor Crowley said. “It’s after curfew. You know that you could be in trouble for wandering the castle. Is something the matter?”

“Um,” said Adam, and ruffled his bangs, “I wanted to talk with you? If that’s all right. I think we really ought to talk.”

“Er, yeah, come in,” said the professor, and he stepped back, pulling the door wide. 

Inside, Professor Aziraphale was on the sofa with another stack of books, and on the table in front of him sat an open bottle of wine. At the sight of the eleven-year-old, he quickly banished it with a flick of his wand.

“Mr. Young?” said Professor Aziraphale, “You’re up late. Is everything all right?”

Adam stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He fidgeted in place, and then he sighed. 

“Hi Professor Aziraphale,” he said, and then fell silent again. He allowed Professor Crowley to usher him to the armchair opposite the sofa, where he sat and looked at the two professors.

“Um,” he said, and took a breath. “I…” And then it all came out in a rush:

“I think I’m the boy you’re looking for. In fact, I’m sure of it—Dowling and I have the same birthday, and we were born in the same place, and magic’s always just been _easy_ , and I, I, I—”

He took a shuddering breath, and held it, looking fiercely at the professors through his bangs.

They both looked dumbstruck; Professor Aziraphale’s book slipped from his knee without him making a move to catch it, and Professor Crowley’s glasses slid down his nose to reveal a flash of gold. Both of their mouths flapped wordlessly, and Adam said:

“I won’t do it. I want you both to know that I won’t do it. An’ I know that _you,_ at least, don’t want me to, but no one else can make me, either. The way I see it, one side winning is just as bad as the other, so I won’t support either. Both the Light and Dark can keep their noses out of things forever, for all I care.”

“Oh, dear child,” said Professor Aziraphale.

“That’s....” said Professor Crowley.

“You don’t have to worry anymore,” insisted Adam. “The only one that can control me is _me,_ and I’m not going to be used for war for anybody.”

Professor Crowley shoved his glasses back up.

“Oh, we got lucky,” he said. “Adam Young, you’ve got your head in the right place, and I’m glad about that. And it takes some of the fear away, I’ll admit. But you know that if they want a war, they’ll get it, with or without you. It isn’t really about you, this whole thing.”

“Yes,” said Professor Aziraphale sadly, “I _am_ afraid that my people want the war too.”

Adam crossed his arms.

“I know all that,” he said, “I’ve learned a lot. An’ I know it won’t be as easy as telling everybody to stop and all go home an’ leave it be. But we’re still here, and we can do our best to fix it.”

Professor Aziraphale nodded slowly. 

“It won’t be _easy_ , of course,” he said, “But what truly important thing ever is? We just need not to fall in line; to refuse to stand aside and _let_ them do it.” He nodded to himself.

“Are you suggesting that we fight the whole of the Light and Dark?” asked Professor Crowley.

“Well, what's the alternative?” said Professor Aziraphale, looking at them both. “It seems far better to do what we can. We’ve worked against our own sides for so long now, and it won’t go uncovered that we had the wrong boy. What do we have to lose by standing, that we haven’t also got to lose by running?”

It was Crowley’s turn to glance between the first year and his fellow professor, and as he looked upon their earnest, determined faces, something about him straightened.

“Well,” he said, “It’s not like I’d let you do it alone,” and the three of them shared a smile, a thin one that was halfway between dead exhausted and deadly serious. 

* * *

The next day passed as usual, and the next week after that. There were classes, and games, and schoolyard fights taken too far. Adam jinxed Greasy Johnson’s shoelaces together, and the Johnsonites retaliated by dunking him with Murtlap Essence in Potions. The next month, Warlock Dowling cashed in his favor, and the Them ended up in detention in Defense. Shortly after, final Exams arrived, and the days were lost to a haze of studying. 

Sometimes, in the evenings, Adam would go to the greenhouses after class to talk with Professor Crowley, and sometimes he would end up in Professor Aziraphale’s office, dragged into a discussion on Runes. He learned about Gillyweed and Knotgrass, and the best way to translate curses. He learned that the two Professors had been in the same year at Hogwarts, and also in the same House. He learned things about the last war that left him shaken, and in great need of lighthearted chaos with the Them. 

Adam learned about himself, and he learned about the world in which he lived. He passed his exams, and grew a year older, and returned again to the castle in September, after months of wandering the familiar Hogback Wood with his friends and getting into trouble. 

Sarah showed them the secret passageway to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade, and the Them snuck out and returned with loads of candy. 

Adam learned more spells and hexes, and the Them and the Johnsonites got better at using them without being caught. 

Warlock Dowling settled on going only by his surname, and he became if not exactly _friends_ with the Them, then something of and ally. 

Adam knew more than he did the year before, and he knew less than he would come to. He knew that he had power, but he didn’t want to use it. He knew that things weren’t perfect by far; but he also knew that he was Adam Young: Gryffindor, Muggleborn, leader of the Them, and that those were the important things. He knew that he wasn’t anybody’s weapon, and he knew that he would never take a side, because neither the Light or the Dark sides cared about the _people._

He knew that next year, he would continue with Herbology, and sign up for Professor Aziraphale’s class too, alongside Wensleydale. But after that...who knew? Certainly not Adam; not yet. But he _did_ know that wherever he ended up, he wouldn’t be alone, no matter where it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, if you enjoyed this, please let me know what you thought! I sunk so much of my life into this, lol, and I just hope that other people like it too.


End file.
